Bless Them
by Tathar
Summary: [PreQuest] [Nonslash] There really should be a fluff genre that's all this is. Wee!hobbity cuteness featuring Frodo, the Gaffer, and baby Samwise, set shortly after Frodo is orphaned... Repost, revised, edited and added to.


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A/N: This little vignette popped into my head out of nowhere, and I was completely unprepared for the response it got when I posted it last year! Since it still seems to be a favorite, I decided to go through and edit a little, adding a few things and revising a few things. I am still considering a continuation to this, if anyone is interested, and any ideas or suggestions you might have would be very much appreciated! :) 

Thank you all so very, very much for your encouragement and kind reviews!

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Bless Them

The summer of 1380 was a queer one fer me. For one thing, me wife, Bell had had a new baby that year; an' as strong a lad as you could wish for. We called him Samwise, although Bell, bless her! wanted to name him after me, at first, since he looked so much like me.  
  
But Bell, I says to her the night little Sam was born, Bell, we already got two lads wi' names like mine--let's try somethin' new.  
  
So we agreed on Samwise. He seemed ta like his name when he mama called him; he smiled, mighty early for a baby, too. Aye, he's a fine lad, Sam. Growin' up strong as an ox, he is, an' handsome to boot. An' with a love of gardenin' too. My oldest lad, Hamson, never took to gardenin' (preferred learnin' the rope-makin' trade like his Uncle Andy) and my middle one, Halfred, chose farmin' instead. But my Sam has a gift for makin' things grow, always has, and since I'm gettin' on now, I'll need someone ta carry on after me, gardenin' for old Mr. Bilbo.  
  
Which reminds me of what else was queer about that summer. Old Mr. Bilbo's cousins, Mr. Drogo an' Miss Primula (a Brandybuck by birth!), drownded in a terrible boatin' accident in the Brandywine, sometime in Forelithe, as I recollect.  
  
Most ever'one in Hobbiton knows where I stand on the matter of boats an' water. It just ain't natural for a hobbit to be mixin' with either, an' only bad things can come of it. But don't mistake me -- I don't blame Mr. Bilbo's cousins fer what happened, though I do hold with the belief that Miss Primula bein' a Brandybuck had a lot ta do wi' it (Brandybucks always have been mighty unnatural for hobbits—livin' too close to the River an' all!).   
  
But all that's beside the point. As I was sayin', Mr. Drogo an' Miss Primula Baggins drownded in that boatin' accident. Mr. Bilbo had always been quite fond of 'em—they was just about the only ones who cared to listen to his stories, and believed 'em, too, I'd wager.  
  
Well, anyhow, Mr. Drogo an' Miss Primula had a son, little o'er 12 years old, I think he was at the time. His name was Frodo, an' as curious a lad I've never seen anywhere. From the first time he came to Hobbiton on a visit with 'is parents (when he was just a wee lad o' 5 or thereabouts), I watched him trail after old Mr. Bilbo, listenin' to his stories an' believin' every word of 'em. He even told me once that he wanted an adventure, if you can believe that. Queer lad, he was, right from the beginnin'—much like Mr. Bilbo hisself.  
  
But there I go again, wanderin' off my road, as they say, like the old ninnyhammer I am. Anyhow, when poor Mr. Drogo an' Miss Primula died, Mr. Bilbo rushed right on over to see little Master Frodo, who, as I heard, was well nigh wastin' away from a broken heart, the poor lad. When he got back, he brought the boy wi' him ta visit a while, an' the look in Mr. Frodo's eyes was enough ta break your heart.  
  
Queer thing about Mr. Frodo (or _Master _Frodo, as he was then, I s'pose) _:_ his eyes. They was big, an' round, an' bluer than anything you ever saw. An' just takin' one look into 'em, an' you could see exactly what was goin' on inside his head. Never saw no one with eyes like his.  
  
Mr. Frodo didn't do much on his first few days at Bag End—sufferin' from shock, no doubt, the poor lad. But sometimes he would come outside an' watch me work in the garden; just starin' at me... hardly ever said a word. I don't mind sayin' that it's still a mite disconcertin', fallin' under one o' Mr. Frodo's stares. Gives me the shivers.  
  
It was a week, as I recall, since Mr. Frodo had come ta Bag End, an' I was workin' in the flowerbeds, as usual. It was gettin' late in the day, an' I finished up the weedin', an' packed up me old things in me old 'barrow, an' started ta walk home. Mr. Bilbo had run to the marketplace for a few things, so I hadn't had the chance to say good day to him, as I usually do.  
  
I was just headin' down the Hill when I heard somethin'. I stopped, and stood there a minute, listenin'. There was nought to be heard. "Imaginin' things, you old ninnyhammer," I told meself, an' kept walkin'.  
  
But I'd hardly gone two steps when I heard the noise again. I stopped, an' this time I could hear it clearly: the sound of someone cryin'.   
  
I set down my barrow an' walked over to the side o' the road, where the sound was comin' from. After liftin' up a few treebranches and pullin' back some bushes, I saw 'im.  
  
Mr. Frodo, curled up in a tiny ball, sobbin' his poor little heart out. I couldn't see his face, as it was buried in his arms, but I knew he hadn't heard me yet. So I crawled through the bushes to get to the little clear space where he was, tryin' to be quiet.  
  
I sat down next to 'im, an' touched him on the shoulder. "Master Frodo?"  
  
He jumped an' looked up in surprise at my voice, an' I felt the air hiss out o' my lungs. My, but he was a sight! His face -- already much to pale for a hobbitlad -- was all smudged with tears an' dirt, an' he had a black eye, as good a one as I'd ever seen, an' a split lip that was bleedin' down his chin.  
  
I don't know why, but somethin' was moved inside me at the sight an' I found myself pickin' the lad up an' pullin' him into my lap. Mr. Frodo seemed surprised, as well, but after a moment, he settled down against me, while I stroked his hair an' rocked him, just as though he were one o' me own children.  
  
"There now, Master Frodo," I said, hearin' him sniffle an' gulp, tryin' to keep from cryin' again. "'Tis all right. What 'appened?" I waited, knowin' full well that I might not get an answer. Mr. Frodo, bless him! was a bit secretive (still is, in fact!)—'specially when he didn't want no one ta worry about him.  
  
But after a bit, he sniffled again, an' I heard him take a deep, shudderin' breath. "Some boys said some awful things about my parents," he mumbled, almost too quiet ta hear. "They..." He stopped to gulp again, an' I rubbed his back. "They said that... that my papa pushed my -- my mama in, and she pulled him in with her." He began to cry again, an' I continued to rock him back an' forth, whisperin' soothing nonsense an' tryin' to comfort him as best I could. I didn't need to ask how he'd gotten his black eye an' split lip—no one could let words like those go unpunished.

After a while, his sobs were just little whimperin' hiccups, an' I decided to try an' talk to him again. "It's all right now, Master Frodo. D'you know who any o' those lads were?"  
  
Mr. Frodo wiped his eyes an' nodded his head. "I know one of them was Ted Sandyman, but I didn't recognize the others."  
  
I frowned. Ted Sandyman was the son of the miller, an' me an' the miller don't exactly see eye-to-eye, as you might say. An' the apple never falls far from the tree—Ted ain't much better than 'is father. In fact, to tell the truth, I think he might be worse.  
  
Still, even fer Ted, those words he said to poor Mr. Frodo were cruel. I can't even imagine what I'd feel if someone said such things about my folks. An' the boy was only just recoverin' from his sorrow, too. Thinking about it, I was surprised that small, thin Mr. Frodo hadn't gotten hurt worse'n he had—Ted Sandyman was an awful big lad fer his age, even then.  
  
When I told this to Mr. Frodo, he smiled, just a little. "Ted may be bigger," he said, softly, "but I think I'm quicker." An' he held up the back of one hand so that I could see that 'is knuckles were bruised. Good for Mr. Frodo!  
  
I chuckled. "Well, that's certain sure!" I agreed. "I bet you shut Ted Sandyman's mouth right proper."  
  
Mr. Frodo's smile faded a little, and his voice was a bit sad as he said, "Well, I tried to, at least." I could've bitten my tongue fer remindin' him of Ted's words.  
  
Neither of us said a word for a few minutes, an' then, lookin' down at Mr. Frodo, I could see that he was plumb tuckered out. I couldn't leave 'im there to walk back to Bag End alone. An idea came into my head just then, an' I said, "Come, Master Frodo, would you like to stay at my house for awhile? I'll make you a bit o' tea, an' you can rest, an' talk, if you've a mind. 'Til Mr. Bilbo gets back."  
  
Master Frodo smiled again, more fully; a fine smile, he had, so bright it lit up his whole face somehow—still does, come to think of it. "Thank you, Mr. Gamgee," he said. No matter how many times I had told the lad there was no need for titles, he persisted in callin' me "Mister".  
  
I smiled back at him an' got to my feet, scoopin' him up in my arms -- an' then wonderin' if I truly had: Master Frodo didn't weigh hardly nothin'!   
  
"My goodness, Master Frodo," I said as I carried 'im to my home at #3 Bagshot Row -- leavin' the barrow behind to get later. "If you don't weigh no more'n a feather! Well, my wife'll put some meat on you, just you wait. She makes the best apple pie you ever tasted..." The whole way home I chattered about anything an' everything, tryin' to keep Master Frodo's spirits up. He didn't say much, but he smiled an' even laughed a few times.  
  
When we got to #3, I set Master Frodo down on his feet. I looked down at 'im, an' remembered the dirt an' blood still smudged all over his face. Uh-oh, best not let Bell see that. "We'd better clean yer face off first, Master Frodo," I said, an' takin' his hand, I led him to the back of our little hole, where we have a well. I pulled up a bucket of water an' dipped me handkerchief in it. Then I made Master Frodo sit down in the grass an' he kept still while I washed off his face.  
  
Once that was done, we went back around to the front door. I opened it, an' led him down the hallway into the sittin' room, where I found my Bell holdin' little Samwise, just woke up from 'is nap.  
  
Master Frodo seemed almost a bit frightened by the baby, as I guided him over to the sofa where Bell held 'im. His eyes were round as saucers, an' he seemed afraid to touch the little 'un, as though he might break 'im. Not strong little Samwise!  
  
"Evenin', Bell," I said. "Master Frodo's gonna stay here with us for a while, just 'til Mr. Bilbo gets back."  
  
Bell smiled at Mr. Frodo; such a kind soul she was! "Hullo, dear," she said sweetly, holdin' out her hand to beckon him nearer. "'Tis a pleasure to have you." She stopped as she noticed his black eye -- no amount of scrubbing would get that off. "Good heavens, child, what happened to your eye?"  
  
Mr. Frodo just shrugged. "I got in a bit of a fight with Ted Sandyman," he said, as though that were all there was to it. I squeezed his shoulder—that were brave of him to say, after the way Ted had treated 'im. I made sure to tell Bell the whole story later, you can be sure!  
  
Bell nodded -- she knew what the miller an' his son were like. "Ah. Well, would you like to see the new baby?"  
  
Mr. Frodo nodded mutely an' sat down on the sofa, scootin' closer so's he could see little Sam's face. "He's very small," he observed quietly, after lookin' Sam over for a moment. Bell covered a giggle with one hand.   
  
"That he is," she said. "Would you like to hold him?"  
  
Mr. Frodo's eyes got even rounder, if that was possible. "May I?" he said, in a sort of breathless voice, as though he feared that Bell didn't really mean it. "Oh, yes, please!" Bell smiled an' carefully placed little Sam in Mr. Frodo's open arms, arranging them properly and giving Mr. Frodo a pillow to lean against.  
  
I had meant to go into the kitchen an' make some tea, but somethin' held me there. I'm not an overly sentimental type, but I tell you the truth, I'd never seen a gentler sight than that one, Mr. Frodo cradlin' little Samwise just as carefully as Bell would. At first, Sam scrunched up his little face an' wailed just a bit when he left his mama's arms, but after a moment he quieted an' nestled into Mr. Frodo's, happy as you please. I'd never seen him take to a person so fast.  
  
"What's his name?" Mr. Frodo asked after a while, breakin' the spell that seemed to have fallen over us.  
  
I saw Bell quickly wipe her eyes with her handkerchief. "Samwise," she said, an' my chest puffed up with pride just hearin' his name.  
  
"Samwise Gamgee," Mr. Frodo murmured, as though tryin' out the name for hisself. It sounded a bit different when spoken wi' that slight Brandybuck lilt of his, but still perfect for my lad. Mr. Frodo looked up at me with another smile bright as summer sunshine, an' for the first time in a long, long while, those queer blue eyes o' his were shinin' with happiness.  
  
I forced myself to snap out o' my dreamworld an' back to the here-an'-now. "I'll go make that tea," I told Mr. Frodo, an' headed quickly out of the room to do so.  
  
When I came back, Mr. Frodo was still holdin' little Samwise, an' the baby was gurglin' an' smilin' like I'd never seen before. I set Mr. Frodo's cup down on the table an' sat down on the sofa beside him. All at once, I heard a loud shout and a cry from further down the hall, comin' from one o' the bedrooms.

Bell sighed, a bit of annoyance on her lovely face. "Sounds like Ham an' Hal are fighting again," she said, standin' up. "I'll go see what's wrong. Master Frodo, you don't mind holdin' Samwise 'til I get back?"  
  
Mr. Frodo looked up. "Oh no, ma'am! Not at all," he said. Bell smiled at him an' hurried down the hall.  
  
For a while, Mr. Frodo didn't even seem to notice me, while he played with Sam. He made funny faces for the baby, an' tickled him a little. Samwise loved it, I could tell. As he were only about three months old at the time, he couldn't do much more than bounce an' gurgle an' smile, but even so, I could tell that he was delighted with Mr. Frodo.  
  
All of a sudden, Mr. Frodo seemed to remember that I was sittin' next to him, an' he looked up. "Would you like to hold him, Mr. Gamgee?" he asked, with a hint of guilt in his voice, as though he'd down something wrong.  
  
I smiled at the lad. "I'll just hold him while you drink yer tea, Master Frodo," I told him, an' he—rather reluctantly, I could tell—handed Sam to me. All the while he drank his tea, he watched the baby; I think he was a bit awestruck by such a little mite, though he must've seen dozens of little cousins Sam's size in that great warren of Brandy Hall. Or perhaps he weren't allowed to see 'em 'til they were bigger?  
  
When Mr. Frodo finished his tea, I saw him yawn. "You can take a quick nap if 'ee want, Master Frodo," I said. He smiled up at me -- lawks, but what a smile! If only he smiled more often like that.   
  
"Thank you, Mr. Gamgee," he said, "but I'll try not to go to sleep. I'd like to play with Sam a little more, if that's all right."  
  
I nodded an' handed little Samwise back to him. "I'll be right back, Mr. Frodo," I said, hearin' a knock at the door. Mr. Frodo nodded without lookin' up, an' I headed down the hall an' opened the door.  
  
Right there on the doorstep stood Mr. Bilbo hisself! "Hullo, Hamfast," he said cheerfully. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I wonder if you've seen my nephew, Frodo. He said he'd be exploring around Hobbiton, but I though he might've stopped here to see your new baby."  
  
I grinned. "Indeed he did, Mr. Bilbo. He's in the sittin' room wi' Sam right now. But by yer leave, sir, might I ask if the lad could stay a little longer? He seems to have grown quite fond of little Samwise. He can have supper with us -- I'm sure Hamson an' Halfred would like to meet 'im.  
  
Mr. Bilbo looked surprised for a moment, an' then relieved. "If you're sure it's all right," he said. "I would so love to see Frodo happy and smiling again. The poor boy's been heartbroken since his dear parents died, as you can imagine. I'm sure getting to know little Sam will cheer him up a good deal."  
  
"Aye, sir," I replied. "He already seems happy as I've ever seen him."  
  
Mr. Bilbo's face broke into a smile, almost as bright as Mr. Frodo's. "Is he? That's wonderful! I can't thank you enough Hamfast; that's a great load off my mind."  
  
"No trouble at all, sir," I said, waving as Mr. Bilbo turned to go. "I'll have him back after supper."  
  
"Thank you, Hamfast!" Mr. Bilbo called over his shoulder as I shut the door. Smiling, I walked back into the sittin' room, an' the most unexpected sigh met my eyes.  
  
Mr. Frodo lay curled up in the great big armchair, fast asleep. An' nestled in his arms, with 'is face restin' beneath Mr. Frodo's chin, lay little Samwise, also sound asleep. One of his tiny, chubby arms was curled over Mr. Frodo's neck, almost like he was tryin' to protect him, even in his sleep. Both o' them looked peaceful an' happy, an' both o' them were smilin', just a little.  
  
Bell came down the hall an' stopped next to me as we stared, speechless, at the two lads curled up, asleep, together. "Oh, Frodo, the dear!" Bell cried softly, so moved that she forgot t' add the "Master." "Bless his heart!"   
  
I smiled an' put an arm 'round her shoulders, suddenly feelin' as though some weight had been taken off mine.  
  
"Aye," I said. "Bless Master Frodo, an' little Samwise too. Bless them."

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~The End~


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